Necklace of Diamonds
by Wildhorses1492
Summary: "There are gems in that mountain that I, too, desire; white gems of starlight." Diamonds symbolize many things: eternity, power, strength, unfailing love, endurance. They are pure, beautiful, and shine like bits of starlight. Perhaps that was why King Thranduil treasured white gems so much, they held a deeper meaning than anyone knew.


**_~Necklace of Diamonds~_**

Diamonds are forever, just as white gems are forever. That is what they symbolize; what they stand for. Some say that diamonds and white gems are symbols of endurance because after a time the rock that is under pressure makes the shining stone. But for others, they mean love; eternal, forever love.

" _There are gems in the mountain that I, too, desire; white gems of starlight."_

" _Do not speak to me of dragon-fire! I know its wrath and ruin! I have faced the great serpents of the north!"_

 _There are gems in that mountain…_

 _I know its wrath and ruin…_

 _Gems of starlight…_

 _Wrath and ruin…_

The Elvenking valued white gems above all others, it was said he hoarded them – perhaps as a dragon hoards his great wealth of stolen treasures. But in that mountain were more than white gems; more than just meaningless trinkets of treasure that he loved to sift through his fingers. Within those long forgotten halls were gems that meant more to him; they were a symbol of love.

Something no one remembered, something everyone had forgotten. But he did not forget his One, his love. Though the years had worn away, and time had made its toll; he still remembered what had been closest to his heart. They would have been a gift; only the finest for his One. They would have completed her beauty, enhanced it. She was too bright, too lovely for simple jewels; he had not thought anything but white gems would do for her.

So he had gone to Thror, knowing full well that the dwarves crafted gems and metals; how well they wielded hammers and smelt gold and silver in their great forges. The Dwarven King had agreed to the bargain and a deal had been struck. He would finish the necklace for the King of the Greenwood to give to his wife in time for Mereth Nuin Giliath; The Feast of Starlight.

But his One was never to see the beauty he had asked the King Under the Mountain to craft for her. She would never know just how much she meant to him. He would have faded if only to be with her, if not for what she had him promise on the burning fields of war. He could not abandon their son. He promised, even as the light of her soul dimmed and grew faint; even as he let his tears fall; even as he knew that that was the last he would look upon her fair beauty.

As he picked up his twin swords once again, another promise he made to himself; no more would he lead his people against foes too great; no more would they march into wars they could not win. He had seen wrath and ruin of both firedrakes and Shadow; he would not blindly lead his people into such again. He did not wish for his son to face such dark malice– at least for a time.

But through this, he did not forget what had transpired between him and the King Under the Mountain; after wars were waged, battles lost, and loved ones gone, he returned to Erebor to claim what was his, and should have been hers. But something had changed; he could feel it. No more did the halls seem wreathed in gladness; something dark and somber was growing, lurking.

He came to the King, asking for what was his. It was brought before him; he looked and beheld it in awe and pain – it was as he had asked and would have looked even more delicate around her neck – but when he reached for it, it was pulled from his grasp. For a moment, he was puzzled, confused; what was this? Why was the last piece of his One held back from him; what had he done to deserve this blatant ignorance of the bargain that had been struck? That was when he saw it; the Shadow looming in the Dwarven King upon his throne; the Shadow that would overtake them all if he did not change his ways and love something greater than gold.

A journey that had at first been a visit to reclaim what belonged to him, turned into an ominous forewarning. He shouted to Thror to mend his path, to turn from the narrow way he was following, but the Dwarven King refused to heed him, and instead told him to get out. He asked for what had been promised him, but that, too, was denied him. So the Elvenking departed the halls of stone that were slowly becoming swathed in shadows of night. He retreated into his forest, into his Woodland Realm.

Long ago he would have faded if not for the only thing his One had made him promise to live for. He would not subject their son to the darkness of the foolish Dwarven King. But still his great Greenwood began to show his agony. Trees grew large and raised their branches to cover the sky; leaves grew brown and lost their color; the breeze lost its light laughter. And though he had not seemed to care of the fate that was falling upon the kingdom of the Lonely Mountain, still he kept his eyes upon it; for something was hidden in those halls that belonged to him, and it would remain so until the world ceased to exist.

And then came the winds; rising from the North, bringing with them all the pain he thought he had hidden and buried decades passed. In a moment of insanity, he called up his warriors, remembering days gone by when he would fight against such things; fought against them with his One by his side telling him that it was the right thing to do. Even though the Dwarven King had failed to follow through with their bargain, he would not fall away from him when he needed aid most.

But when he arrived at the Dwarven kingdom, passing through a ruined and still smoldering Dale; seeing that the bowmen with their longbows and Black Arrows had failed, sanity returned; he could not fight such a force. Still he pushed on to the mountain. He did not know what drove him to it, but perhaps it was he wanted to see truly that all hope of ever setting eyes upon the necklace of starlight once more was gone.

When he saw the great kingdom laid desolate and wasted, he knew he would not lead his trusting people against such a monster; he would have none of his people suffer the loss he had endured. He could not break his promise either; he could not leave his son alone in this world that was passing into such shadow. He saw the dwarves – the King, Thrain, his son, and Thorin his grandson – in a blurry haze of confusion and memories strewn with the bodies of elves and the blood of his One spilt upon the ground.

He would not let any more blood fall! No, he could not fight something so much stronger than he; not with such simple weapons. As he rode back to his realm, his mind dwelt upon the things of the past. He berated himself for even showing his face at the desolation of Smaug the Terrible– he had been rebuked and unheeded by the Dwarven King, yet still he had gone to his aid; what a fool he had been! The Dwarves had done nothing to deserve such friendship and loyalty; so was his mindset when they came begging for shelter and nourishment.

He threw back in their faces what they had said to him and enjoyed watching their confusion and then uncomfortable remembrance follow it. He would not soon forget what they had kept from him; what was by all rights his to hold and treasure. Once it would have been a gift to his One; but after her passing, as gift to give his son for _his_ love. But that was impossible with the fall of Erebor to the last of the northern Firedrakes. He could no longer hope in vain for the gems of starlight to ever be held in his hands again; to ever be shown his son and explain how much his mother had loved him.

She had loved him more than her own life; what she had fought for in that final battle had been their son; and though death would have allowed them to be together evermore, she had loved her son more than death and had made him promise to stay behind. Without her. Alone. But he put those thoughts deep into memory as the centuries passed and their son grew up. He watched the boy become so similar to his mother; adventurous, questioning, brave, and sometimes headstrong. Always he wished to know what lay beyond Mirkwood – as the Elvenking now called his once-glorious kingdom.

This bothered the Elvenking, though he tried not to show it. He knew that that questioning nature would drive them apart because he was not ready to answer all the growing queries about the world beyond the Woodland Realm. He knew that his son would want to discover answers for himself if he continually put off telling him. Still he let time drift by, unwilling to introduce his son to the strange, cruel world he knew would someday rise up to meet him. He did not want Legolas to know loss; he knew the boy felt the absence of his mother – that could not be avoided – but he thought he could spare him everything else.

All fathers want to protect their children– perhaps the Elvenking even more so. Then came the spiders. He put off all pretenses of telling his son of his mother and of life beyond Mirkwood to fight this new monster; which was admittedly lesser than any firedrakes. He let his son go out and fight them alongside his soldiers and officers, hoping that with time the boy would become so occupied with this that he would forget for a few decades his questions.

And this did work, until he realized that the friendship between the fiery-haired Captain and his son was more than simple friendship; at least on his son's side. He knew that the Silvan elf was far too curious and open-minded; she matched Legolas' curiosity measure for measure– perhaps even surpassed it. He also saw much too much of his One in her; her stubbornness, her fiery temper, her quick decisions. When her heart told her that something was wrong or right, she listened; he knew that personality well.

He knew that it might hurt his son.

Just as it had hurt him centuries ago on a blood-ridden battleground.

He told her, subtly at first, to not take Legolas with her on her excursions to rid the forest of the giant spiders. She had listened, but his son had not. And like his mother might have, he went into the forest anyway. The Elvenking knew that characteristic, too. His son was tired of living here; tired of feasts, dancing, the quiet of the forest, and hunting spiders and Orcs that invaded the lands. He had no idea how to curb this spirit, and he regrettably let it go because he could not bear to force his son otherwise.

And then the Dwarves arrived. He could have killed them all had Legolas not been there; he would have dragged them to Erebor and presented them to Smaug himself if he did not feel that tiny, nagging emotion… His One would have supported them; Legolas would have supported them if he had known the whole truth of the story. But, as he waited in his throne room, he realized that he could perhaps also get back what had been taken from him. So, because he knew how this might return to him what had been lost for so many centuries, and because he knew what his One would have done, he offered to help Thorin Oakenshield, heir to Thror, King Under the Mountain.

When the stupid Dwarf-Prince railed at him about suffering, about the rain of dragon-fire, he withdrew his kindness. This Thorin had seen many terrible things in his day, he would not deny him this, but he had not _suffered_ as he had. He had not been forced to remain behind when his One was leaving this world; he had not had to watch her light fade and the starlight vanish from her eyes! He did not have to speak so arrogantly of dragon-fire to him as if he knew nothing of it! Here he was, offering peace on level ground, and he threw it away as if it were poisoned wine!

For an instant, he showed Thorin the true pain of dragon-fire, the true burn it left behind, and then he ordered the stupid child to the dungeons until he thought better of his words. After they had gone, when he was alone, he allowed his façade to fall slightly; he allowed the tears to track his face; unbidden though he tried weakly to hold them back. With a drawn-out sigh, he dropped his crowned head into his hands. The flames of war were coming and he could not hold them at bay. He had ignored them too long, he had pretended they did not exist and had made this all the worse because of it.

And then the dwarves escaped mysteriously, under a flurry of Orcish arrows and a very nasty welcoming party. When his son dragged the Orc into his throne room and the filth declared war was coming, he could not contain himself any longer, he smote its head from its body. After he had done it, he was afraid; afraid because it had been too long since he had killed, and he did not loath what he had done; oh no, he missed it, he craved it! He wanted a hundred Orcs to slash and tear, to feel his wrath!

As he passed his son – his son who would be a fearsome warrior if he allowed him from this stronghold – he noticed his look of confusion, he heard the bewilderment in his voice as he uttered his question. As the Elvenking cleaned his blade and returned it to its sheath, he realized this was perhaps the first time his son had ever beheld him in this light, as the soldier he was; as the fighter. But, as was his way, he tried to discard it as if it were nothing; knowing this would worsen their growing rift. He did not want his son to know him as a bloodthirsty warrior that enjoyed watching his enemies writhe and cry out in death. But he knew he could not undo what had been done.

He told his son to bar the gates; he gave him a task, as he had always done, to keep his mind from the questions that were certain to follow. He was unaware of how this day would change the course of all days to follow. He had seen the look of infatuation on Tauriel's face when the Orc told her of the dwarf that would die; he knew it would bring nothing but trouble, this misbelief that she was in love; he had ignored it and instead told her to leave his presence; a foolish mistake.

That evening he knew what his willful ignorance had cost him when his son did not come to his side at the evening banquet. When he realized that it was Tauriel who had caused his son to leave the safety of the Woodland Realm, he cursed her bravery and her naivety; she could not stop what was coming, and now his son had followed her into the very heart of it! He ordered her banished and asked his son to come home; hoping that that would rid him of the problem; though he knew it would not.

When the elf returned a day later and told him that Legolas had stayed with Tauriel, he had asked to be alone. For a time he talked to the empty throne room and yet he felt that he was talking to his One. He regretted everything that he had done, which he thought he had been doing in protection of his son, when in all reality it had been for himself. With a heart heavy with regret, he told his elves to rally for war.

When he saw the ruins of Lake-town and saw the dragon in the dark water, rotting beneath the icy ripples, he knew death and danger would follow. Still, he took his time traveling to Dale. When he arrived in the early morning, saw the pitiful state of the Men of Lake-town, he knew what his One would have had him do; so he brought them supplies to last the winter until they might rebuild the city of Dale. And then he turned his mind to war; war that was coming whether he wished it to or not.

He told the Bowman that he had personal reasons to enter Erebor, but not what they were. When the man tried to stop him from attacking the mountain – which he could do and win, he was certain – he was surprised. After all that had happened because of the dwarves, still the Bowman thought to save them from an uncomfortable fate. So he agreed; because he wanted to know if it was true that a dragon-sickness lay upon the gold.

When the Bowman returned, saying Thorin Oakenshield had refused to agree to terms, he told him that they only understood war. It would always be that way; it was the only way to make anyone understand. Death and suffering brought realization when before there was none. It had been so with him; it would be so with Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thrain, son of Thror.

But then came a foe he had not thought to face, and he found himself once again spilling elvish blood– but this time the cause was not for the elves, but for others. As he fought Orcs all around him, he felt terrified, knowing that he could not prevent the darkness that was rising, the darkness that would surely ensnare his son in the coming future. He killed ruthlessly, without thought, because he wanted to hurt something, and because he had to find his son and tell him what he had put off for so many centuries.

So much passed in a blur. Then, suddenly, he saw blood; red, elvish blood all around him. So many elves; so much death. He recalled to mind his promise that he would not let so many suffer to suit his tastes. Not even if he wanted to find his son could he force these elves to die for him. He told his officers to regroup, to call the living back to him so they might return to the Realm– though he would remain here to find Legolas and Tauriel, to ensure their safety. Suddenly, he was faced with the point of an arrow and fiery red hair.

Tauriel.

Though he should hate her for what she had caused him, he could not. When she spouted some tripe about him being empty of love, he wanted to grab her by the shoulders and shout to her that if he had no love, why did he feel so empty, why did he feel so lost? If he was incapable of love, why did he remain on this worthless earth when he could have faded and been with his One? Instead of words, he took his sword and cut through her bow.

He pointed his blade at her, telling her that if this feeling she thought was love truly was that, was she willing to die for it? Was she willing to go out on the battlefield and possibly take an arrow or a slash of the blade for it? Could she give her life for that of the dwarf-prince? But before he could utter those words, steel hit steel and he heard his son's voice.

He stared at the boy; he did not understand, Legolas had thought he would kill Tauriel? The idea had not entered his mind, so why would it have entered his? Then he remembered; he remembered Legolas' face when he had severed the head off that Orc. He remembered his callous reply to his son's question. Legolas was not certain that his father would hesitate to commit an act of murdering his own; he did not trust him. And that was more agony than any blade could induce. He stumbled back, letting them go; letting them perhaps go to their deaths.

He had failed his One; he had broken her promise she had asked of him; he had not kept their son safe. He turned back to his elves, but he could not leave Dale now, not when his own son was willing to give his lifeblood for these dwarves and Men. So he fought on.

The battle was won, the eagles had come. The Elvenking could not believe it; they could claim victory this day! His elves gathered around him, looking to the wounded: Men, Dwarves, and their own kin. It was in this moment that he suddenly remembered his son and Tauriel. He looked to Ravenhill, and then he ran to it, hoping that Legolas had not passed from this world without knowing what he should have been told long ago.

When he arrived, he passed by the bodies of Orcs, and paused at the body of the blonde dwarf-prince. Coming to a ruined terrace, he looked down on the frozen water and saw Thorin lying upon it. He looked away; he had not told the dead King that he had forced him to remember his loyalties again. Now he never would. And then the sound of sobbing drifted down to his keen ears. He followed it through ruined corridors and up crumbling stairs.

He stopped when he saw his son; he could go no farther. He saw a look of pain upon Legolas's face; a look he had so hoped to keep from it. He was quiet for a time, watching the boy. He could hear Tauriel's sobs and low keens all the more clearly from here, and was certain of what had taken place. Then he moved towards the elf again, careful to make his presence known. Legolas turned to him, horror in his bright eyes; the horrors of war and of seeing loss. The Elvenking had no words.

Legolas told him that he could not go back for now, and he understood; the first battle was always the hardest to move past; the hardest to forget and come away from. But with time he knew that war would no longer bother the boy so much. Suddenly, he remembered what he had come to tell him; now it was all the more urgent because Legolas was leaving.

" _Legolas, your mother loved you; more than life, more than death."_

He did not tell him where those words had come from, what they meant. How much they meant to _him_. He simply let his son slip away; though he wished to go after him; he wished to pull him into an embrace and tell him everything he had withheld all these centuries. But he could not. All that he must know for this moment was that his mother had loved him more than her own life and more than Thranduil's death so he might be with her forever.

Then he turned to Tauriel, to console someone who knew what the pain of a love lost was; though hers was not as great as his had been; she would not fade because of this dwarf-prince. She would live many years more, he was certain of it.

Again the decades passed, and he lived through dangerous times. Word reached him that Legolas joined the fellowship in hopes of destroying the Ring of power and so defeating Sauron. In the great battle to follow, he once again brought his soldiers forth from Mirkwood to fight the evil. Once again he watched elvish blood be spilt. And then, darkness was washed from the land. He welcomed his son back; he watched as his forest became bright and filled with life again. He renamed the vast expanse; he called it after his son.

The years slipped by, and one day, Legolas came back to his One. Tauriel had lived on, and become better for what had happened to her. And after all these centuries, she had waited; perhaps unknowingly. When Legolas told him about Tauriel, and how he felt for her, Thranduil asked him to come with him. He had kept it after Dain, now King Under the Mountain, had graciously returned it to him. It could finally be given to his son.

He showed Legolas the necklace meant for his mother, for Thranduil's One. He told him about his mother and how proud she would have been of all that he had done; how she would have smilingly presented this necklace of starlight to him to give to Tauriel.

When the Elvenking saw the fiery-haired elleth wearing the necklace crafted so many years ago for another very similar elleth, he smiled softly. The ache in his heart never diminished, but he learnt how to move on. He would never forget his One, but he would never feel so lonely. The centuries moved on again, and Thranduil saw the time of elves passing away.

He heard of King Elessar's death, and not many years later, of Arwen's; and it sorrowed him. Slowly the others of the company and fellowship began to pass on. Then came the message he had thought never to read. Tauriel wrote that Legolas wanted to sail into the west. She wrote that she would go as well, and that their sons would also.

Thranduil did not reply. As he was standing outside one evening, admiring the colors of fall leaves on the trees, an elf rode up to him. He could not believe at first that it was Legolas; after so long, his son had return to him in his Woodland halls, if only for a moment. The Prince asked his father to sail with him, begged him to. He told him that he could no longer put off the desire to sail into the west; would not his father venture with him? He would take the last of the grey ships; Thranduil must know there would be no others.

Thranduil told him that he would journey to the Grey Havens, but would not step into the ship; he would not go into the west and therefore into the Undying Lands. He knew the one he so longed to see would not be there. She would never be there. So King Thranduil ventured to the Grey Havens to bid his son farewell. He bid farewell to Tauriel, who still wore the necklace of starlight, and to his grandchildren. And last, but not least, to Gimli son of Gloin, who he had never thought to see boarding an elvish vessel.

The salt air whispered past him as he stood on the terrace overlooking the ocean. The sunset was blazing in full glory as the last of the grey ships sailed into the west. Thranduil felt alone. All had departed him; all had at last gone on. Lord Elrond, his dear friend, had sailed; the Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn also. The world belonged to Men now; Dwarves were vanishing into their mountains and barring the entries; Hobbits were a quiet people; he heard that they did not venture so far past Bree anymore.

For a time, Thranduil remained in his halls – long emptied of most of the elves he had once known. They had either sailed or passed on. Some nights he wandered under the stars, across the fields, and into the forests. He watched the world change. Then there were days when it did not seem so different and foreign to him; days when he would stand on the rise of a hill and look down, the wind blowing against him, pulling gentle fingers through his hair, caressing his face.

Days when he remembered the laughter of his people and the glorious music they played. All he had left of days gone by were an empty Woodland Hall, a pair of daggers, a bow – Legolas claimed he no longer needed such things where he was going – and memories. Sometimes he would pass through Dale – yet once more it was no longer alive, years had taken the descendants of Bard to new lands – and recall all that had happened in that place.

He ventured to places that had once been sights of great battles and wars, but were now simple fields or growing young forests. He could barely conceal his sorrow at such forgetfulness. He discovered he missed seeing dwarves, hobbits, wizards.

This pain was so great, but he did not die. As the ages went on, his form became less and less visible; he remained on earth but could no longer be seen – a spirit among men. Sometimes he would offer comfort to those who had lost, or listen to fears and doubts when one felt afraid or uncertain. On nights when the moon was bright and the stars gave off their glittering light, he would walk the land, remembering a battle or a memory of Legolas.

He did not know when this eternity would end, but when it did, he prayed it would take him back to all he had given up and all he had let go. He wished to look upon all the faces of long forgotten friends once more.

 _For he loved, next to his One and his son, white gems; white gems of purest starlight._

And white gems, or as we call them today, "diamonds" mean eternity and love,

Perhaps someday he will find an eternity with all he ever loved over white gems.

* * *

 **A/N:**

 **Soundtrack I listened to while writing (don't have to listen, just figured 'why not?'):**

Emotional Sad Music saddest song ever **(** _most recommended_ **)**

Shahead Mostafafar - Evolution [switch Trailer Music – Beautiful Dramatic Strings]

Beyond Freedom – Audiomachine

Ivan Torrent – Before I leave This World

Forever We Are (Beautiful Emotional) Really Slow Motion

 **Notice Before Reading Author's Note:** _ **I own nothing nor do I profit from J.J.R. Tolkien's works in any way whatsoever. I simply enjoy writing stuff up if only for the sake of hearing my keyboard make that satisfactory clacking sound of words being typed out. I own nothing!**_

 **Ok, I don't know if I messed up a bunch of Tolkien history or not; I frankly wasn't trying to be accurate. This whole idea came about after watching the Hobbit and the part where Thorin picks up a necklace of white gems and says "I know someone who would pay dearly for these" or something to that effect and because I feel so bad for Thranduil, I can't know why; besides that, I wanted to write something sad. I was also reading somewhere that the elves that stayed behind were consumed or "overwhelmed" by their souls and became spirits on earth.**

 **I added Tauriel/Legolas because I think that though Tauriel was an OC created by PJ, she is a nice touch. I don't know if it was ever mentioned by Tolkien who Legolas married – I believe he had three children, but boys, girls, or boys and girls both I can't recall – so I think that Tauriel is an interesting addition because of the fact that though she** _ **did**_ **love Kili to some degree, it was not love enough to fade.**

 **I think that after a few hundred years, her pain at Kili's death would have passed and she would have renewed her friendship with Legolas, and that friendship would have grown to love because of the experiences they shared. I also like to think that Legolas would have taken his whole family with him into the west – though I don't know if any of that's certain (I'm a stickler for details but I can't seem to do more than a dusting-over of Tolkien appendixes).**

 **Also, I don't know whatever happened to King Thranduil, who I love and loved in the book; I love him all the more in the movies! (Not in the way any of you are thinking; keep those heads high and dry!) I think that a lot of his choices would have been for his son – because come on, let's be honest, everything that I have read about elves says that if their loved one dies they will usually fade or sail into the Undying Lands (again only what I've read says that, my info could be wrong).**

 **Thranduil only stayed in Middle-Earth because of his son. !personal opinion! I think that if he'd not had a son, he would have faded not long after his wife's death.**

 **I also think that's what his words in the movie** _ **"Legolas, your mother loved you, more than life; more than death."**_ **mean. Legolas' mother loved him more than life; she fought to protect her son from the hellfires of war. But she would not have Thranduil fade to be with her because of their son. Though I'm certain she would want nothing more than to have Thranduil with her in death as he was in life, she valued the life of their son much more. I think that without that sort of explanation, the line** _ **"more than death"**_ **really doesn't make sense.**

 **The reason I called this "Necklace of Diamonds" instead of "The Necklace of the White Gems of Starlight" was because I think that somehow, diamonds and white gems are the same stone. I think that white gems are pure, rare diamonds; diamonds that if we were to see today, we would call them starlight gems because of their purity. At least, that's my take on the white gems. Dunno about Tolkien's – though I wish I did.**

 **There were some other things about this that I wanted to say, but I've forgotten them. Oh, also, if I've misspelled anything, please don't be too slow to point it out for me! And don't be too hesitant to review; I would like to know your thoughts on this; I spent a goodly bit of time on it. (Sadly I do not have internet access through the day so I couldn't check my work for accuracy.)**

 **Again, please tell me what you think,**

 **WH**


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